Fuck. Fuck. Fuckitty fucking fucktastic fuckwads on a sea of fucking fucktasticness. Fucking flying through the fucking air on a fuckarama of fucklossal proportions. Fuck from the fucking beginfuck of timefuck to the existence of fuck past fucking everything and fucking nothing. F. U. C. K. Kcuf. Fuck. Maybe I’m pushing the boundaries of what you’ll pay me to write. Needing some demarcation of the blurred lines between existence and existing. Or perhaps I’m making a statement about the ability of profanity to have power over other words. Or the use of repetition to dull impact. Or I need to get laid. Well… Fuck off.